Parliamentary Sketch Writer for The Sydney Morning Herald

Lee Harrison at the monument for the 2002 Bali bombing victims on which his sister's name is etched. Photo: AFP

WHAT are the protocols for grieving?

At the Parliament House memorial yesterday, other protocols were clear.

We stood as the Governor-General, Quentin Bryce, adorned with a peace dove brooch, entered the room. We stood for the national anthem. We fell silent, deeply silent, for the laying of wreaths for the 88 dead Australians, many of whom had family in the room.

Margaret and John Harrison, accompanied by their three grand-daughters Kiana, Hannah and Tyler, were one of those families.

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The Harrisons had two children in the Sari Club. One, their 29-year-old daughter, Nicole, died. The other, their 22-year-old son, Lee, got out.

So there is no right way for the Harrisons to grieve, there is no protocol for them to follow, because their overwhelming loss is laced with joy for the life of their surviving son.

''You've got to be careful. It's hard … we have to be careful around Lee,'' Mrs Harrison said.

''There's no such thing as closure,'' Mr Harrison said.

''They can execute those buggers [the bombers], it still don't bring them back.''

Dr Fiona Wood, the plastic surgeon who worked to save the lives of 28 badly burned victims, told the story of one of her patients who, initially fearing she would never walk again, recovered so successfully from her injuries that she later beat Dr Wood in a triathlon.

Amid the grief, there was a little joy too: in the toddlers who squawked through the ceremony, too young to realise its seriousness and, in the memories of the victims, whose smiling faces were projected on a screen to the peaceful music of a Balinese Gamelan orchestra.